if she saw those messages.
When I crept back into Amy’s room, she was still snoring. I crawled over to my side of the bed and pulled the covers over my head, wishing I could hide from the guilt and the shame of what I’d just done.
The Ardmores had never been big on Thanksgiving. Or any holiday that involved gathering, really.
My dad wasn’t close to his parents. I’d only met them once, when I was five, and now all I knew about them was that they lived in Florida somewhere. My maternal grandmother had passed away a few months after I was born, and my grandfather had died when I was nine. He might have left his house to his only child, my mom, but before that, he’d been the cold, unfriendly sort. Mom never saw the point of making a fuss over a dinner for three people, and after my dad was arrested, I guess it seemed even more pointless.
The Rushes, on the other hand, loved Thanksgiving.
There were a few years a while back where Amy’s parents weren’t home much. They jetted from one business trip to another, and Amy spent most of the time at her grandmother’s. But even then, when the family seemed to be drifting apart, Mr. and Mrs. Rush always came home for Thanksgiving. They made a big deal out of it: a huge turkey, the best stuffing you’d ever tasted, and enough side dishes to feed an army of hungry soldiers. They also invited everyone they knew: their extended family, their friends, their kids’ friends. Which meant I got to be a part of the annual feast. It was always a highlight of my year, and it was always hard to go home, full and happy, to a dark, quiet house.
This year was different, though. This year I was able to experience the Thanksgiving festivities from the time I woke up in the morning until I went to bed that night.
I was incredibly excited about this, and even Mrs. Rush’s request to invite my mom couldn’t bring me down.
“There will be more than enough food. I know things are rough with you two right now, but she’s always invited to Thanksgiving dinner and we’d be here to serve as a buffer. It might be good for both of you,” Mrs. Rush said as I helped her clean the house that morning.
“I’ll see,” I said. “But I think she’ll probably have to work today. You know how retail is these days….”
Mrs. Rush shook her head. “Forcing people to work on Thanksgiving is just terrible.”
I nodded, relieved when there were no follow-up questions.
After that, the day was fabulous. Good food, lots of people, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on in the background. The Rushes celebrated Thanksgiving all day.
And into the next morning, too.
Because the Rushes not only loved Thanksgiving, they also loved Black Friday.
“I don’t understand,” I told Amy as we stood on the sidewalk outside of Tech Plus, an electronics store (the only non-grocery store in Hamilton) at four a.m. I had to work at the bookstore later that afternoon and knew I was gonna regret being up this early. “You’re loaded. Isn’t Black Friday meant for poor people like me? So you all can watch us fight to the death, Hunger Games style, over a half-price iPod?”
“We’re not loaded,” Amy said.
“Excuse me. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A Lexus.”
“And your brother?”
She sighed. “A Porsche.”
“I rest my case.”
She shrugged. “I guess my parents like deals.”
At that moment, Mr. and Mrs. Rush were in Oak Hill, waiting outside the mall to do some hardcore Christmas shopping. As much as I hated being awake before seven (okay, let’s be real, I hated being up before noon if I could help it), I couldn’t complain much. Amy and I did have the easiest of the Black Friday tasks. We just had to run in, grab the newest video game console, and get out.
“Your brother better know I was a part of this gift,” I told her. “I may not be contributing financially, but it is a testament to my affection for him that I got my ass out of bed for this.”
“And here I thought
When I crept back into Amy’s room, she was still snoring. I crawled over to my side of the bed and pulled the covers over my head, wishing I could hide from the guilt and the shame of what I’d just done.
The Ardmores had never been big on Thanksgiving. Or any holiday that involved gathering, really.
My dad wasn’t close to his parents. I’d only met them once, when I was five, and now all I knew about them was that they lived in Florida somewhere. My maternal grandmother had passed away a few months after I was born, and my grandfather had died when I was nine. He might have left his house to his only child, my mom, but before that, he’d been the cold, unfriendly sort. Mom never saw the point of making a fuss over a dinner for three people, and after my dad was arrested, I guess it seemed even more pointless.
The Rushes, on the other hand, loved Thanksgiving.
There were a few years a while back where Amy’s parents weren’t home much. They jetted from one business trip to another, and Amy spent most of the time at her grandmother’s. But even then, when the family seemed to be drifting apart, Mr. and Mrs. Rush always came home for Thanksgiving. They made a big deal out of it: a huge turkey, the best stuffing you’d ever tasted, and enough side dishes to feed an army of hungry soldiers. They also invited everyone they knew: their extended family, their friends, their kids’ friends. Which meant I got to be a part of the annual feast. It was always a highlight of my year, and it was always hard to go home, full and happy, to a dark, quiet house.
This year was different, though. This year I was able to experience the Thanksgiving festivities from the time I woke up in the morning until I went to bed that night.
I was incredibly excited about this, and even Mrs. Rush’s request to invite my mom couldn’t bring me down.
“There will be more than enough food. I know things are rough with you two right now, but she’s always invited to Thanksgiving dinner and we’d be here to serve as a buffer. It might be good for both of you,” Mrs. Rush said as I helped her clean the house that morning.
“I’ll see,” I said. “But I think she’ll probably have to work today. You know how retail is these days….”
Mrs. Rush shook her head. “Forcing people to work on Thanksgiving is just terrible.”
I nodded, relieved when there were no follow-up questions.
After that, the day was fabulous. Good food, lots of people, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on in the background. The Rushes celebrated Thanksgiving all day.
And into the next morning, too.
Because the Rushes not only loved Thanksgiving, they also loved Black Friday.
“I don’t understand,” I told Amy as we stood on the sidewalk outside of Tech Plus, an electronics store (the only non-grocery store in Hamilton) at four a.m. I had to work at the bookstore later that afternoon and knew I was gonna regret being up this early. “You’re loaded. Isn’t Black Friday meant for poor people like me? So you all can watch us fight to the death, Hunger Games style, over a half-price iPod?”
“We’re not loaded,” Amy said.
“Excuse me. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A Lexus.”
“And your brother?”
She sighed. “A Porsche.”
“I rest my case.”
She shrugged. “I guess my parents like deals.”
At that moment, Mr. and Mrs. Rush were in Oak Hill, waiting outside the mall to do some hardcore Christmas shopping. As much as I hated being awake before seven (okay, let’s be real, I hated being up before noon if I could help it), I couldn’t complain much. Amy and I did have the easiest of the Black Friday tasks. We just had to run in, grab the newest video game console, and get out.
“Your brother better know I was a part of this gift,” I told her. “I may not be contributing financially, but it is a testament to my affection for him that I got my ass out of bed for this.”
“And here I thought
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